"…And now I need your help because you know this show better than the back of your own hand! HELP MEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Anya stared at her frantic friend with saucer-eyed wonder over how much information Becky had managed to convey in one breath before glancing again at the sheet "Bondman" had given her.
"We're not the first ones you'd think of as chums. Especially at dinnertime."
"Loud or not, you can take stock in us blowing you away."
"Will a swim in our pool bring Treasure and Treachery?"
"Hmm…"
Anya must have re-read that dossier about two or three times more to herself, though the minutes that passed as she thought to herself felt excruciatingly laborious. While she solved the first riddle with relative ease and had a general idea about the second, the third puzzle could have given an exam from Professor Henderson a run for its money.
But then, for the briefest of moments, the disparate pieces of an idea began to swirl about her brain, morphing into some facsimile of a unified theory. Holding up her finger to Becky, Anya bared down at the paper once again, her face etched into a determined frown as little creases began to manifest themselves on her forehead before-
"Anya! Becky!"
As the thoughts vanish like vapors, Anya looks up to see her father as he scoops her off the ground; his face transforming from worry into a deep frown of his own…of disappointment while hers broke out into worry and deep persperation.
"If I've told you once about wandering off I've told you at least ten thousand-"
"But Mr. Forger. It was my fault."
Both father and daughter broke concentration to stare at their brunette counterpart.
"She saw the show from the shark tank on her way to coming back." Becky said rapidly as if all the words were one syllable. "I was the one who pulled her back to help me…"
*{Wow. Becky is such a liar.}* Anya thought admirably while watching her father's demeanor soften.
"…and she even already has a hunch too!" Becky completed.
"GAAAH!" Anya shouted in shock.
"A hunch you say." Lloyd said slowly turning to his daughter. "Well Agent Anya, we're all ears."
Taking a final glance at the paper she'd been handed earlier, Anya once again re-dons her thinking face before getting back into the spirit of the mission.
"Ok. Agent Papa. Agent Becky. Clue number one is the shark-tank. Let's start there."
Sure enough, at the other end of the archway, a manilla envelope had been tucked away behind one of the plaster rocks. Whatever hope the three of them had however dissipated as within the sheath was a caricature consisting of the rogue's gallery that Bondman called his adversary at one point or another; all of whom held up a crimson-colored fish by its tail as they screwed their faces up in mockery.
"A red herring." Said Lloyd said dryly.
"Poop."
"That was a good guess." Becky said consolingly to her pink haired pal. "But we still got two more places to look."
"I agree, that was some quick thinking." Lloyd said tucking the envelope away. "Although, I am curious as to how you drew such a conclusion."
Thrown off by her father's rhetorical quandary, the scientifically-altered soothsayer glances at the frenzied specimens contained within the tank.
*{CHUM, DAMN YOU!...CHUM!...CHUM!...giveussomechum…CHUUUUUMMM!...I'm STARVIN' already!}*
"One of Second Son's lackeys went fishing. He kept talking about how the chum made him turn green." Anya replied quickly. While the answer satisfied her father, Becky stifled a laugh knowing how all too plausible such a scenario would be.
"So. Agent Anya, where to next?" Becky asks.
The Forger girl glances around the restaurant and shop. Whatever swagger and confidence she had in cracking the first code had all but vanished; nor did her telepathy help matters as the running commentary of everyone's thoughts only served as gasoline to the proverbial fire. Suddenly a mother and son moving past the display of fake firearms burst through the storm
*{…[REDACTED] kid's gonna be the death of me someday I swear! Losing his socks in the damn ball pit! I mean really…}*
"Ok. Here's how things are going down." Anya said commandingly. "We're gonna split up. Agent Papa, clue Number 2 is over there by the toy weapons. Becky and I will search for clue Number 3 at the playground."
As the two girls dashed off across the store and towards the playground, Lloyd could feel the objection stop halfway in his throat and come out instead as a frustrated grunt. Was he not Agent Twilight; allegedly, the super-est of all super-spies WISE had in their roster? By what loose thread in the sweater of human history was he being cowed by a child? Had all this time as a father for Operation STRIX really softened him this badly? Sighing deeply, he turns his head to the counterfeit guns for sale where the corner of yet another manila envelope poked out from under the shelf; a spectacle unnoticeable to the average patron…but not to those of a seasoned spy.
Once again, the envelope is opened.
Once again, a red herring.
Tucking the envelope back with the first, Lloyd glances back to the array of armaments available for purchase. His face breaks into a small smile as an innocuous comment Anya made some time ago comes back clear as day.
(Flashback)
"Papa! I want a pistol with a silencer."
"Sure, if there's one on sale."
"Twelve and a half Dalc." He mutters to himself before pulling a play pistol off the rack. "Sounds reasonable."
(Meanwhile at the ballpit)
Were the height chart of Howlin' Allen and the Beats not nailed down, Anya and Becky's force from running past would have sent it falling over. Both the rules it gave for patrons to be of a certain height and to remove their shoes went unheeded by the two girls as they barreled into the play space.
"Ok Agent Anya, what's next?" Becky asked.
Anya turned to her friend in wide-eyed confusion.
"What?"
"Why are you interested in this mission?"
"Anya, really. You're my friend. Can't I maturely put aside my indifference and see you unconditionally happy?"
Anya's face deadpans.
"Oh, you got me." Becky confessed with a sigh. "Seeing Bondman vow to move heaven and earth for Princess Honey's tummy warmer…(she clutches at her heart and nearly swoons)…it almost makes you forgive something this formulaic and childish."
*{Now there's the Becky I know.}*
"Yeah, I get it. All the kissy things you're into that I thought were so boring are like a battle in their own right."
"Hey!"
"No time to argue. Let's get this mission solved!"
As the Blackbell girl scoured around the obstacle course, Anya made her way to the giant ball pit; the crown jewel so to speak of this space of leisure. With a final deep breath, she bolts as quickly as her legs could allow and lunges forward before the plastic balls envelope her and she begins to swim around. Though it felt like forever, five minutes had passed and, in that time, Anya had come up only three times; once for air and twice to place whatever random crap she had found on her excursion. And while her efforts were rewarded with half a Dalc in loose change, a pair of socks, and a king's ransom of Spy Wars related souvenirs forgotten by this or that child. But alas, no envelope.
"Becky!"
Lloyd and Yor enter the playground just in time to see a stubby little fist forcefully burst through the sea of polychromatic bubbles. With a triumphant gasp, Anya hands the third and final envelope to Becky whose face breaks into the biggest smile as she unsheathes a photo of a tummy warmer.
"Congratulations. You've solved the case." She reads from the back of the photo. "Take to your nearest host/hostess and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."
"Sooooo COOOOOOOOOL!" Anya said hyperventilating with glee.
"Woah now." Becky said. "Let's not forget who Bondman deputized."
Anya's face fell momentarily.
"That is true." Lloyd began looking at his crestfallen daughter. "However…"
(Backstage)
"Koyner. Burr. The kid found the tummy warmer. You're due in five."
As Dalton puts the last touches on his costume and preens in the mirror, his co-star (so to speak) lets out a hiss in disappointment as she throws the lighter back in her purse and pulls the unlit cigarette from her lips before hastily changing into her ensemble.
"Hey, Peacock. Give over." She says giving Dalton a brusque shove aside, before fixing the blonde wig over her head and funneling an energy drink before walking out.
"Um…Yul?"
"What?"
Dalton holds up a small glass vial of perfume, to which his cranky coworker grunts and spritzes herself silly.
"I hate this so much." Yul grouses before emitting a loud and undainty belch. "I smell like I crawled out of a Keilberg Cream pastry."
"Well, better that than a can of God Bull." He said pulling out a tin of mints.
"Let's not get carried away now buddy!" Yul said slapping the container from his hands. "There ain't a Gilded Globe waitin' when we punch out…"
Yul smacks her lips for a moment and shudders.
"...On second thought, fork those over..." She groaned after picks the tin off the ground and throwing a fistful into her mouth. "...geez, when was the last time I had a friggin' Sabowey?"
Like all good things, they come to an end. And once Becky and Anya had been commended for their "service to the crown", the preview for the Bondman Café was by and large over. Checks and commemorative swag bags were given to the corresponding tables, as were surveys for what guests loved as well as any improvements that could be made.
As she drove her charge and the Forgers home, a knowing smile graces Martha Marriot's face as she glances in the rearview mirror; Lloyd and Yor gazed out the tinted windows surveying as much as they could of Berlint's resident night-owls as they began to fledge and make their way towards whatever nocturnal offerings the city had in store for them. By contrast, the excitement of the night finally caught up with Anya and Becky the minute they sat down. The former flopped face first onto her mother's lap while the later (ever the opportunist) chastely leaned against Lloyd…naturally her face breaking into the biggest grin she could muster.
With the Forgers dropped off and the car parked in for the night, Becky sluggishly stumbled through the Blackbell estate before reaching her chambers. Utilizing what little strength she had left after the festivities that evening, she put her goodie bag on a chair before listlessly rummaging through the collection of lower-end souvenirs contained within: posters, lanyards, a few gumball-machine quality figures…all of which will most likely be passed over to Anya sometime in the near future. For her sake, the one memento that she'll hang with honor among her Berlint in Love shrine was the photograph taken of her and Anya with Bondman and Princess Honey (made to look like a newspaper) as well as the costume medal she had been awarded for her service to the kingdom.
(Back at the Restaurant)
Rubin ached from the day.
While each step bought him closer and closer to the punch clock, it still felt just enough out of reach to taunt him. Ultimately however, the machine emits that all too beautiful beep that comes with acknowledgement of a shift's end and like water through a faucet, the stress leaves his body…
"Rubin. We got one more thing needing your attention." JP says from behind the main kitchen doorway.
…or not.
"*groan* I punched out already. Is waiting until tomorrow really gonna kill anyone?"
Instead of an answer, a hand covers his eyes, and an all too familiar voice answers his question.
"Good day, or rather good evening." Catherine giggles before kissing his cheek. "Your mission, which I think you'll accept gleefully, is to report to the Ikitsuke Café. Apparently, a heartbroken girl had a bad date and could use some company.
Turning around to nuzzle his girlfriend, the two lovebirds playfully chase each other through the café and depart through the main doorway.
Though the restaurant was as lively as a church on Monday morning, Dalton didn't feel it. Instead, as he stood on the little platform that passed as a stage in the farthest wall of the eatery, the ovation he was receiving had no end. Roses fell from the sky and landed around his personhood while seas of awestruck children bobbed about, each jostling and waving all manner of stationary in hopes that an autograph would grace it.
And there, in the back of the room stood a frail yet elegantly attired woman sneeringly spectating the scene before her. With a quiet and envious seethe, even she by some miracle of miracles finds it in her to gently tap the edges of her fingers together, and even more astoundingly permit one corner of her lip all too briefly jerk upward before quickly returning to its disdainful default.
Then as quietly as a snake, she walks away for good; fading into lackluster vapors upon passing the aquatic arch.
"You love me." He weeps silently. "You really love me."
*SLAM*
Shattering Dalton's delusion is a more-peeved-than-usual Yul.
"Get the lead out already. Show's been over for a while."
(Elsewhere Still)
"…you mistake me, Vanessa. Of course I'm upset. Nobody does what he does to my niece and gets away with it…what I'm just saying is that don't have it in me to be surprised."
In a study as dark as it was plush, a man pours whiskey into a very ornate Old-Fashioned glass. Judging from the partially melted state of his ice sphere and how the stench of spirit peppered his breath, it was at least his second or third. The voice from the other end of his phone oozed with righteous fury as she tells her uncle about her evening. He sighs bitterly after taking a generous sip.
"Like father like son…oh trust me, the two of us have been business rivals long before you were a twinkle in anyone's eye. Him taking gambits that involve biting off more than he can chew with this or that business deal is as sure as the sun rising in the East and setting in the West…(he takes another sip)…And it's clear as day the apple didn't fall too far from the tree when it comes to the son."
As the voice on the other end continues to speak, the man nods sadly.
"I know. I know. Men like him act like they walk on water because they have this or that name, or occupy this or that Tax Bracket…and it's not like the old days either. We must be tactful in our vengeance. Make it look as impersonal as possible. Trust me though, he will pay…good night."
Hanging up his phone, the man turns his office chair around to face the cathedral sized window making up 3/4ths of his rear wall. Night had long since fallen over Berlint, and like the moon on high he too bore down on the city; focusing his eyes on one little dot of neon in the shape of a man in a trench coat and fedora.
"'Biting off more than he can chew with this or that business deal.' Well Seamus my boy, tonight you choke."